


Twelve Days (a.k.a. The Epic Holiday-Themed Porn)

by Savoytruffle



Series: Wingman [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Bondage, Cock Rings, Collars, Control, Dom/sub Play, Exhibitionism, F/M, Flogging, Holidays, M/M, Multi, Multiple Partners, Object Insertion, Rimming, Spanking, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-16
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:56:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savoytruffle/pseuds/Savoytruffle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bones' doesn't have to ask Jim what he wants for Christmas. It's his job to <i>know</i>. It's Jim's job to wait patiently until Bones gives it to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So you know how you decide that you can't really do holiday fluff, so you should just do a PWP instead, so then you try to figure out a holiday theme for it and you choose the twelve days of Christmas and suddenly, six days into the twelve and 7,000 words later, you realize it's going to be epic and you start to worry about your readers getting porn fatigue, so you end up emailing the mod and asking her if you can post in daily installments from your assigned day up until Christmas? Yeah, that. Thanks to [](http://cordelianne.livejournal.com/profile)[**cordelianne**](http://cordelianne.livejournal.com/) and [](http://graceandfire.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://graceandfire.livejournal.com/)**graceandfire** for those things they do.

Jim thinks he could come just from this.

Just from the feel of Bones’ cock between his lips and against his tongue.

Just from the dark, hungry look in Bones’ eyes.

Just from the burn of the carpet beneath his knees. Just from the bite of the scarf around his wrists. Just from the brush of his fingers against the small of his own back as he clenches his hands in and out of fists to keep up the circulation.

Jim thinks he could come from these things alone. And then fingers are pushing through his hair, palms curving around his skull, hips thrusting forward, fucking his face, shoving that cock further toward the back of his throat, and Jim’s eyes water as he struggles to breathe through his nose and he’s sure he’ll come right now without Bones laying a single hand on his dick.

But he’s not supposed to and somehow he doesn’t.

Not until Bones has come and Jim has swallowed and Bones is yanking him up by his shoulders, steadying Jim with an arm around his waist, fisting Jim’s dick a little too hard and oh just right, and once, twice, and oh fuck it’s so…

Jim must black out there for a second because the next thing he knows he’s lying limp and boneless in what feels like Bones’ bed and his hands are untied and someone is moving them around. Jim opens his eyes to see Bones carefully examining his wrists for any damage.

“Silly doctor,” Jim mutters. “Leave ’em.” Because it’s not like a mark or two would be so bad.

Bones ignores him and finishes his examination, but does let Jim’s arms drop afterwards, apparently satisfied.

 _Satisfied_. Jim’s beginning to think he’s only just discovered the true meaning of the word. Hell, he’s ready to sit for finals every single week of the next term if this is the reward he earns for completing them.

Well, this and nearly three whole weeks of holiday vacation with hardly anyone on campus besides him and Bones. Not that he needs the whole campus. As far as he’s concerned they don’t need anything other than this room.

Jim rolls to his side, bending an elbow and propping his head in one hand while he reaches out with the other to draw lazy lines over Bones’ chest.

"So, now that we're..." Jim lifts the hand briefly from Bones’ torso to wave it in the air in some sort of meaningful fashion, "aren't you going to ask me what I want for Christmas?"

Bones raises a disapproving eyebrow. “Come on now, Jim, if you want to ask a question, I think you can do better than…” he lifts a hand to mock Jim’s gesture, “ _that_."

Jim looks down at Bones.

Bones waits.

Jim tries again. "Okay, so now that we’re...” Jim bites his lower lip, swallows and starts over. “Now that _I'm_ …yours...” the words thrill and frighten him at the same time, but he pastes on a cocky grin to cover, “aren't you going to ask me what I want for Christmas?"

Bones smiles. “Good boy.”

“Well?” Jim asks to hide the shiver that runs through him.

“Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to ask?”

“No.”

“No?”

Bones shakes his head. "Now that you're mine, Jim, it's my job to _know_ what you want for Christmas."

 

 

 

“It’s _your_ job to wait patiently until I give it to you,” Bones reminds him a few days later – and not for the first time – as the calendar creeps toward the twenty-fifth. They’re lying on the bed in much the same position as before, after much the same activity.

Bones likes Jim on his knees.

Jim just snorts. He’s not too big on virtues generally, and patience has always been his least favorite. A fact he’s certain Bones both recognizes and relishes.

“You’re not planning to go anywhere after Christmas Day, are you?” Bones asks.

“Why?” Jim asks, suddenly feeling defiant. “You want to forbid it?”

There goes that eyebrow again. “Just trying to make plans,” Bones says, remaining annoyingly calm. “I only control you in here, Jim. Out there you’re free to do as you please.”

“Seem to like controlling me in bars well enough.”

Bones’ face doesn’t as much as twitch. “Only when it has to do with sex. I don’t tell you what to drink or how much. And lord knows I’ve never been able to keep you out of a fight when you’ve got a mind to be in one. Now are you just being difficult or are you actually planning a trip?”

“Afraid I’m going to run away?”

Bones sighs. “If you want to leave, Jim, you don’t have to run. You can walk. Today, tomorrow, next month. You’re always free to walk away. You’re here by choice, remember?” A small smirk cracks through Bones’ serious face. “In fact, if memory serves, there may even have been some begging…”

 _Yeah._ Jim closes his mouth and sinks back onto the bed. There was definitely begging.

 

 

 

Bones has a double clinic shift on Christmas Day that starts at zero hundred and runs until early evening.

Jim has nothing but his own impatience, the building anticipation and a designated time to be in Bones’ room to receive his present. He starts to get hard on his way between the dorms and by the time he’s reached Bones’ door walking has become very uncomfortable.

Jim rings the chime and when the door slides open, Bones is standing right there on the other side, smelling of soap and shampoo, hair still damp, skin still flushed.

Jim licks his lips. “Gonna make me wait some more?” he asks.

“Nope,” Bones says, reaching out and pulling Jim in for a long, slow kiss.

 _We don’t do this nearly enough,_ Jim thinks, absently rubbing his hard-on against Bones’ thigh, but mostly focused on the kissing as Bones explores his mouth with lips, tongue and the occasional nip of teeth.

When they finally pull apart, Jim sees the easy smile on Bones’ face and knows it’s mirrored on his own.

“Merry Christmas,” Bones says.

“Merry Christmas,” Jim repeats, still grinning, as he waits for Bones’ next move.

And waits.

And waits.

And then Bones steps back and Jim is left standing there, gaping, as Bones walks over to the armchair he’s got set up in front of the comm console and sits down. Bones spreads his legs and gestures at the floor between them. “Come sit,” he says. “I picked out some vids. Nothing holiday-themed, though. I hate holiday movies. And I ordered Chinese. It should be here soon.”

Jim’s mouth opens and closes a few times before any words come out. “Wait,” he says finally, “that’s it? Are you kidding? Please tell me you’re just fucking with me.”

“Jim?”

“No way did I just spend seven fucking days waiting for a stupid kiss.”

“Stupid?” Bones asks.

“Okay,” Jim admits, “so it wasn’t stupid. It was great. Awesome, even. But still, that can’t just be _it_.” Jim crosses his arms over his chest, but resists the urge to stomp his foot.

Bones doesn’t move from the chair. “I’m sorry you’re unhappy, Jim, but I’ve had a long day.”

“So, what? You had some whole big thing planned, but now you’re too tired to pull it off?” The idea totally sucks, but Jim thinks it might be forgivable.

“No,” Bones says.

“No?” Jim repeats. “So this is all you were ever going to do?”

“Why don’t you come sit down?” Bones says. “I’ll start the vid.”

The frustration humming through Jim’s body turns to anger. “No,” he says.

“No?”

Jim stares him straight in the eye. “I think I’d rather go out.”

“Okay.” Bones looks almost disappointed but way too fucking calm.

“ _Okay_?”

Bones sighs. “We’ve been over this, Jim. You’re here – or not – by choice.”

“So if I _choose_ to go out and find someone who actually wants to _get off_ on Christmas instead of kissing for a few minutes and then watching some stupid vid…?”

“I’m not going to try to stop you.”

“So, you’ll just be fine with that? I can get off with whoever I want – no big deal?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So what, then?”

“So, you _know_ the answer to that. If you go out and do something sexual that I haven’t ordered with someone I haven’t selected – and if you choose to come back afterwards – you’ll be punished. And then we’ll move on.”

“Punished?” Jim lets his glare melt into a leer. “Now _that_ sounds interesting.” He looks toward the door. “Maybe I should just…”

“Careful, Jim. The things you’re thinking about are play, not punishment.”

“At least you’d be _touching_ me,” Jim pouts.

“I’d be _touching you_ if you would just come over here and sit down,” Bones points out. “Punishment isn’t fun, Jim. You won’t get off on it and neither will I.”

Jim shakes his head. “What’s the point, then?”

“Boundaries,” Bones says. “Trust.”

Jim scowls. “I’m not a child.”

“Then quit acting like one,” Bones snaps, finally showing a hint of impatience. “I’m tired. Either go out or come sit down.”

It’s that little crack in Bones’ calm façade more than anything that decides Jim. He shrugs out of his jacket, hangs it by the door, then walks over and settles himself on the floor between Bones’ feet, still sullen.

“Good boy,” Bones says softly.

This time, Jim kind of hates it.

 

The food comes a few minutes later and Bones asks if Jim would mind getting it. Jim does mind, since he’s still pouting, but he’s also pretending he’s not pouting, so he gets up and goes to the door to accept the delivery. Bones motions him to set the bags on the table beside the chair and to resume his place, and while Jim may do it, that doesn’t mean he likes it.

Unfortunately for his determination not to be mollified, Jim _does_ like it when Bones opens a few containers, pulls out a pair of chopsticks, and alternates between feeding Jim and feeding himself with the dexterity of a man whose manual precision often means the difference between life and death. Not a single grain of rice ends up on the floor.

And afterwards, when those same skilled fingers begin running through Jim’s hair and massaging Jim’s scalp, Jim likes that, too, and he’s starting to have trouble remembering to be mad.

The fingers finally slow to a stop and Jim lets them rest there on his head for a moment before setting his hands on Bones’ knees and levering himself to his feet. He walks over to his jacket, reaches into one of the inside pockets and pulls out a wrapped box – square but flat.

“I got you something,” he admits, walking back to place it in Bones’ hands.

He watches Bones rip off the paper then flip open the box to expose the [stainless steel rope collar](http://www.wyredslave.com/steelbands.html) lying inside. For a long moment, Bones just stares and Jim starts to get nervous.

“I mean, maybe I wasn’t supposed…I don’t know if you wanted to…well, anyway, you don’t have to...”

Bones looks up at him, eyes dark and hot enough to burn. “It’s perfect.”

He gestures for Jim to sit again and Jim does, shivering as the cool metal settles around his neck, Bones’ fingers brushing the back of his neck as he closes the lock with the Allen key provided.

“Perfect,” Bones says again, voice practically dripping with satisfaction. “Let’s go to bed.”

They settle into the bed, spooned, Jim’s back to Bones’ front, and Jim is kind of in love with the way that Bones can’t seem to keep his hands away from Jim’s neck.

“You know,” Bones says softly, just as Jim’s about to drift off to sleep, “where I come from, Christmas has twelve days.” The words send puffs of warm breath across the back of Jim’s neck. “And this is just the first.”

A few minutes later, Bones’ breathing and heartbeat go steady behind him.

Jim, however, lies awake for another hour, thinking about those words, just like he’s sure the bastard knew he would.


	2. Chapter 2

When Jim wakes in the morning he’s sure he must still be dreaming. On the one hand, he knows he fell asleep in Bones’ bed last night. On the other hand, he has tingles at the base of his spine and a delicious wet warmth around his dick. Which has to mean blowjob. 

Only, while Jim has probably sucked Bones’ cock a couple dozen times since this whole thing started a few weeks ago (and pretty much loved every minute of it), Bones has never sucked his.

Jim figured it was just something Bones didn’t do. Like maybe it was dom code or something. And given all the things Bones did do and did damn well, Jim hadn’t been inclined to complain.

But the thing is, whomever’s lips are sliding up and down Jim’s dick right now, that person is definitely _not_ an amateur. Christ, Jim’s only been possibly awake for about sixty seconds and he’s already about to come. Which means, if he _is_ dreaming, this would be the worst possible time to open his eyes. If he’s _not_ dreaming, though, Jim really, really needs to see this.

His eyes snap open.

And when he looks down his body, Bones’ eyes are looking right back at him, while those lips…

Jim comes on the spot.

 

When his eyes manage to open again, Jim watches, words failing to form in his mouth, as Bones sits back on his heels at the end of the bed and licks his lips. 

“I’ve got to get to the clinic,” Bones says, and this is when Jim realizes that Bones is fully dressed. “My shift ends at 1900. Be here when I get back.”

And with that Bones climbs off the bed and is gone.

 

Jim lazes around in bed for a while longer, before heading to the gym and then downtown to wander for a bit. At some point prior to leaving the room, he notices he’s still wearing the collar and briefly debates taking it off before realizing he can’t. 

The key is no longer in the box.

He gets back with plenty of time to spare, sits down at the comm console to answer some old messages. When the door opens behind him, he looks over his shoulder and smiles. 

“Hey,” Jim says.

“Shower,” Bones says, grabbing Jim’s hand as he crosses the room in case Jim couldn’t tell whether it was an FYI or an invitation. 

They undress each other – not slowly, but in no hurry either. They step under the spray and, after taking a few moments to wash away his workday, Bones surprises Jim by dropping to his knees.

“Holy shit,” Jim says, as Bones’ tongue sweeps over the head of his cock. “Another one?”

Bones looks up at him. “It _is_ the second day of Christmas,” he says.

And that’s when Jim realizes there’s going to be a _theme_.

Right before he stops thinking altogether.

Later, when they’re dry and half-dressed, Bones kisses Jim again, just like the day before, except now Jim can taste himself in Bones’ mouth and on Bones’ tongue.

Jim decides he likes the second day of Christmas.

And that he’s _really_ looking forward to the third.

 

On the third day of Christmas, Bones does not wake Jim with a blowjob. In fact, Bones does not wake Jim at all. The bed is empty when Jim crawls out of it, but there is a message waiting when he checks him comm.

 _Meet me at the clinic on my lunch hour – 1300_ , it says. _And make sure you eat first. Your mouth is going to be too busy for food._

Jim feels a flush of warmth in his gut and he smiles, flexing his jaw.

After yesterday’s twofer of phenomenal blowjobs, he’s more than ready to return the favor.

 

Jim strolls into the clinic at the designated time whistling a happy tune. He smiles at the first attractive nurse he sees. The man smiles back.

“Hey, there,” Jim says, leaning against the counter the man is standing behind. “Do you know where I could find Bo—I mean, Doctor McCoy? I’m supposed to meet him for—Nevermind,” Jim says as he feels fingers closing around his upper arm and tugging, “looks like he found me.” 

Jim winks at the nurse as Bones drags him into some kind of break room with a table, a replicator and a few cots.

“Jesus, Jim,” Bones growls. “This is my place of work. Could you try to act a little less like you’re here for a nooner?”

Jim blinks and tries to look innocent. “Is it my fault someone left a dirty message on my comm telling me to meet him here?”

“It _wasn’t_ —”

Jim raises an eyebrow, if only to prove that Bones doesn’t own exclusive rights to the gesture.

“Okay,” Bones admits, “it was a little dirty. Still.”

Jim just smirks. “So, Doctor, now that you have me here, what _are_ you going to do with me?”

Bones glances down at his watch, then at the door. As if on cue, it slides open and a woman in a nursing uniform peeks in.

“Come on in,” Bones tells her, crossing to stand beside her and sliding an arm around her shoulder, which she accepts easily. “Jim, this is Annabelle. She hails from Louisiana.” 

Jim loves the way the word sounds rolling off Bones’ tongue – _Lose-E-ana_. 

“Now Annabelle here drew the short straw in the nursing pool and wasn’t able to make it home for the holidays,” Bones continues, moving to stand behind her as he runs gentle hands up and down her arms – a gesture Jim finds unexpectedly hot. “So I told her I thought maybe you could help make it up to her.” He leans down to speak next to Annabelle’s ear. “Would you still like Jim to make it up to you, darlin’?”

Annabelle nods. Jim feels weak in the knees.

“I’m happy to hear that,” Bones drawls. 

His hands are at her waist now, sliding down over her hips, and Jim says a small prayer of thanks – not his first – for the fact that the miniskirt versions of the various Starfleet uniforms have come back into fashion. Bones’ hands have passed the hem of that skirt now, and are sliding back the other way, up and under. Jim watches through the fabric as Bones’ thumbs hook under her panties. 

“We’ll just get these out of the way,” Bones says, drawing them slowly out from under her skirt and down her legs, going to his knees and waiting for her to step out of them before standing again. 

Bones hangs the scrap of fabric on a hook by the door, and then crosses over the one of the cots, sitting up at the head of it, back resting against the wall.

“Come sit with me, darlin’,” he says. 

Annabelle climbs onto the cot and settles herself between Bones’ legs, leaning back against his chest. 

“Jim – knees, end of the bed.” 

Jim doesn’t think it’s fair that Bones doesn’t call _him_ “darlin’,” but he’s still happy to oblige, especially since he’s really not sure how much longer his legs will hold him.

“Now, Jim,” Bones instructs as he lifts Annabelle’s knees, one at a time, so that they’re hooked over his own, “Annabelle’s break is only fifteen minutes long. I assured her you know how to work quickly, so don’t let me down.” Bones spreads his knees a few inches further apart and Annabelle’s legs widen with them, her skirt hiking up in the process, exposing her to Jim’s gaze. “Oh, and Jim, just your mouth. Keep your hands where I can see them, or I’ll have to tie them behind your back.”

Jim’s breath catches in this throat. Nodding, he bends forward and sets to work. 

From above he can hear Bones murmuring in Annabelle’s ear, voice soft and low, saying things like, _“You like that, darlin’? I know you do_ ” and _“Didn’t I tell you he had an amazing tongue?”_ and _“Hear that, sweetheart? He’s drowning in you and he loves it.”_

And Jim does love it. He loves the feel of Annabelle on his lips and tongue. He loves the quiet whimpering sounds she’s starting to make. Most of all, he loves knowing that Bones is right there and that, at the end of the day, everything Jim does to her is for _him_.

Annabelle quivers beneath Jim, and then shatters. And when Jim lifts his head and sits back, Bones is stroking her arms, petting her gently as she comes down. 

After a quiet minute, Bones helps Annabelle to her feet, plants a light kiss on the back of her neck and hands her some tissues from who knows where. She reaches up under her skirt to wipe herself clean, then takes her panties off the hook and slips them back on. She turns back to smile at them both.

“Thank you, Doctor McCoy, Jim.”

“You’re very welcome,” Bones tells her. “Now tell Ísla she can come on in.”

Jim’s eyes widen and he realizes he really should have been quicker on the uptake.

It is the third day, after all.

Ísla seems even shyer than Annabelle at first, but she turns out to be a surprisingly dirty talker and, in the end, a screamer. Once a minute or so, Jim pretends to come up for air so he can watch as Bones pinches and plucks at her nipples through the supple fabric of her uniform, laughing into her neck as the obscenities pour from her mouth.

Celia isn’t shy at all and Bones seems to know better than to try to hold her. He takes a seat on one of the other cots while she asks Jim point blank whether he really wants to do this and if he has a safeword. When he assures her that the answer is yes on both counts, she hikes up her skirt, takes off her underwear, arranges them both on the cot and proceeds to tell Jim exactly what she wants and how.

Jim follows the detailed instructions to a tee – maybe for the first time in his life – and Celia comes both faster and harder than the two before her.

She recovers and sets herself to rights just as efficiently as she probably does everything else. 

“Congratulations, Doctor McCoy,” she says. “And you’ve got ten minutes before you need to prep for surgery.”

The door swishes shut behind her.

Jim licks his lips and shakes his head. “Your nursing staff, Bones? Really?”

Bones shrugs. “Any doctor worth his salt knows that the loyalty of a few good nurses is the real secret to success. Besides, they work hard. They deserve a little something.”

Jim laughs. “You ever consider a festive holiday gift basket?”

“This from the kid who once accused me of being too conventional.”

“I may have been mistaken,” Jim admits.

Bones checks his watch. “We’ve got eight minutes. You want banter or a blowjob?”

It’s not a tough decision.

 

Jim gets his second blowjob later that night after dinner and his kiss right before bed.

“I know it’s early days yet,” Jim says as he curls his body around Bones’, “but I’m pretty sure this is going to be the best Christmas ever.”

Bones smiles, reaching out to trace the collar around Jim’s neck with his single finger. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”


	3. Chapter 3

Jim wakes up alone again, but he really doesn’t mind. He figures he could use some time for recuperation, maybe a little carb loading. The message comes halfway through his good old-fashioned farm breakfast (replicated, just like Mom used to make).

_Come by the clinic around 1500. Pretend you need to see a doctor._

Fifteen minutes later – as Jim is turning over the possibilities in his mind and wondering where he could find a bar fight at this time of day – a second message arrives.

_Do **not** get yourself an actual injury._

And fifteen minutes after that:

_I mean it._

Jim rolls his eyes. As if he hadn’t already decided, at _least_ five minutes ago, that avoiding unnecessary hypos was definitely the better part of valor.

 

 

“Hello, Annabelle,” Jim says, smiling as he leans slightly on the check-in counter.

Annabelle blushes, but smiles back. “Hi, Jim,” she says. A passing supervisor clears her throat and Annabelle stands up straighter. “I mean, uh, how can we help you today, Cadet Kirk?”

“I’m really not feeling well,” Jim tells her, everything about his expression, tone and posture labeling him a liar. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with me, but I think I _definitely_ need to see a doctor.”

Annabelle pokes at the screen in front of her a few times without really looking at it. “Do you have a preferred physician?”

“Oh, yes,” Jim says. “Doctor McCoy. I recently made him my…primary physician. I mean, I’m happy to see other people, but only if Doctor McCoy…recommends it. He supervises all my…medical treatment these days.”

“I see,” Annabelle says, a slight blush rising in her cheeks, though her voice remains even. “And do you like having Doctor McCoy oversee all your…care?”

“I love it,” Jim says. “He’s very…skilled. And he has _excellent_ judgment.”

Annabelle nods. “He definitely seems to know what’s he’s doing,” she says. “At least in my experience.”

“Oh, yeah.” Jim flashes her a grin. “I have to admit, it took me a little while to come around to his…methods, but I’m finding it really pays to follow doctor’s orders.”

“Cadet Kirk, Doctor McCoy is ready to see you now,” Celia says, suddenly appearing at Jim’s shoulder. “If you’ll follow me?”

Jim follows as she leads him down the hall and into a small exam room.

“If you’ll just remove your boots and pants,” Celia says, “Doctor McCoy will be right in.”

“What about my shirt?”

“Just your boots and pants. And your underwear.”

Jim winks. “I’m not wearing any.”

Celia rolls her eyes, then turns and leaves.

Jim does as he’s told, but it feels kind of weird. He’s really comfortable with nudity, and shirtlessness has never been a problem, but something about his dick hanging out below the hem of his shirt feels kind of wrong. He shrugs and hops up onto the biobed, its smooth plastic surface cool against his bare ass.

He expects Bones to come through the door at any minute, but he doesn’t. Jim’s not sure if something came up or if it’s all part of the plan, but whatever it is, it works. Waiting in the empty exam room, naked below the waist, in the middle of the clinic, in the middle of the day, with no idea what exactly he’s waiting for or even who might happen to walk through the door and see him this way proves both embarrassing and arousing.

When the door finally does open almost forty minutes later, Jim actually has to resist the urge to cover himself, but it does turn out to be Bones.

“Took you long enough,” Jim says.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Bones says, stepping further into the room.

“Really?”

“No.”

Jim has to smile. “So, doc, should I tell you where it hurts or did you want to _examine_ me?”

“I’m a doctor, Jim. I do not have, nor do I have any interest in developing, a medical kink.”

“Says the guy who’s about to do dirty, dirty things to me in an exam room.” Jim frowns. “You are, aren’t you? Dirty, dirty things? Because if the only thing you stick in me is a hypo, I might have to file a complaint with your boss.”

“Just turn around and bend over the bed,” Bones says. “I don’t have all day.”

“Anyone ever tell you your bedside manner is for shit?” Jim grumbles, but he hops off the bed anyway. No sooner does he turn to face the waist-high bed, bending himself over it and spreading his legs without being told, than he feels two slick fingers pushing into his ass at once. “Ugh.” He spreads his legs further and tightens his grip on the edges of the bed. “Not that I’m…complaining.”

The fingers twist and Jim pushes back against them, not only to urge them deeper, but to make more room between his hips and the bed for his growing erection. The fingers withdraw for a moment and when they slide back in, there are three of them and Jim realizes…

“Hey, are you wearing latex gloves? Sounds…ugh…sounds like a medical kink to me.”

“There’s no excuse for unsanitary practices in a medical facility,” Bones says, driving the three fingers in deep one more time before pulling them out.

Jim’s laugh comes out a little more moan-like than intended. “Whatever you say, Bones. Whatever you—Oh god, what _is_ that?”

“It’s a Ben Wa ball,” Bones says. [“Four of them, actually. On a silk string. In gold.”](http://www.sextoy.com/prod_info.php?a=sextoycom&pnum=NW1758-1)

“Festive,” Jim says on another long moan as the second ball is pushed up inside him. “Are they—” he pauses to breathe his way through the third “—ridged?”

“Dimpled,” Bones says as the fourth and final ball slides home. “And each one has tiny weighted balls inside it that move when you do.” He slaps Jim on the ass to demonstrate.

“Oh fuck,” Jim whispers as they jiggle and quiver inside him.

“So perfect.” Bones bends to plant a kiss on the tingling place at the base of Jim’s spine, then straightens up and walks to the side of the bed so Jim can see him. “Now stand up and put your pants on. Celia’ll be back in a minute.”

Jim pushes himself up on shaky arms, standing on equally shaky legs. He walks over to the chair where he laid his pants and steps into them one leg at a time, pulling them up over his hips and fastening the fly with great care over his hard-on. Each and every movement makes the balls wiggle and shift and Jim struggles to remember how to breathe.

“In and out, Jim,” Bones reminds him. “I know you can do it. You’ve gotta stay focused. Don’t wanna let our girls down.”

Jim takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, letting the feeling of fullness wash over him. He’s filled by the four balls and filled by Bones’ faith in him, filled with the desire to make Bones proud.

“Where do you want me?” he asks.

“On your knees, in front of the bed.”

The position puts his mouth at just the right level.

He services the girls, one at a time, in the reverse of yesterday’s order – Celia, then Ísla, then Annabelle. He takes everything he learned the previous day and puts it to good use, bringing them off faster and better than before, despite the four spherical distractions in his ass.

And when he’s done – and Annabelle has slipped out the door with sincere thanks and a smile on her face – Jim feels Bones’ hand on his head, fingers stroking through Jim’s hair. “That’s my boy,” he says. “Always rising to the challenge.” Jim flushes at the praise. “Now go on back to the room and I’ll see you after my shift.”

 _What?_ Jim blinks. “Blow job?” he asks, voice soft and plaintive.

“I’ve got patients, Jim. Besides, you can wait for me, can’t you?”

Jim doesn’t answer.

“It’ll be hard,” Bones says, “but I know you can do it. Nod for me if you know you can do it.”

Jim swallows and nods.

 

 

Bones makes it worth the wait.

Bones makes it worth the walk back to the dorm that nearly kills Jim.

 _Bones_ nearly kills Jim with two blowjobs in a single hour and Jim comes both times – the second as Bones slowly pulls the balls from Jim’s body by their silk string.

Jim staggers to the bed and collapses onto it, face first.

Bones follows, rolling Jim onto his back, and kisses him gently before lying down beside him.

Jim mutters something incomprehensible, even to himself, and falls asleep in under a minute.


	4. Chapter 4

Jim wakes as if from the dead. He thinks he probably hasn’t slept that well since he was six years old. Maybe not even then.

He thinks back on the day before and decides that, at the rate Bones is going, Jim will _actually_ be dead by the New Year. He thinks maybe he should be worried about that, but can’t muster the energy.

What a way to go.

Muscles he didn’t even know he had are stiff and aching, but only in the most delicious way. Jim slowly stretches his arms over his head, his back arching and popping as his toes reach for the end of the bed.

And that’s when he notices them.

Their weight.

The gentle slide of smooth metal against his skin.

He brings his arms back down, moving his hands in front of his face until he can see them – [the golden rings circling each of his wrists](http://eternitycollars.com/index.php?cPath=47).

He kicks his feet, shoving the covers off the bed and craning his neck to look down his body to his ankles – and the golden rings around them, too.

Shit, he really must have been sleeping like the dead.

He studies the one at his right wrist – hard metal, warm from the contact with his skin. No clasp, just a locking mechanism. Like his collar.

Suddenly Jim has a picture of himself, as seen from above, sprawled across the bed, naked but for the collar around his neck and the cuffs adorning his wrists and ankles. Looking wanton. Looking _owned_.

Make that sprawled and naked and _hard_.

Fuck.

He rolls off the bed and stands up, starts to walk across the room, feeling the rings with every fall of his feet, every swing of his arms, and he wonders how the fuck Bones knows this shit – knows what to do, knows what it will do to Jim.

Before he reaches the bathroom, he sees a pile of clothes folded on the table with a handwritten note resting on top of them. He reaches out and picks it up.

 _Day 5. These stay on until the end of Day 12. Longer if you like. Water won’t damage them. Your cadet uniform will cover them._ Jim glances at the clothes on the table. It’s not his cadet uniform. He swallows and keeps reading. _Come by the clinic whenever you want. The girls and I will be waiting. And don’t forget to bring the key._

At the last line, Jim’s eyes fly back down to the table and this time he spots the key lying there beside the pile.

Right there.

Not hidden away. Not tucked safely into one of Bones’ pockets. Right there, just waiting for Jim to pick it up and unlock everything.

Or take it to Bones.

Jim leaves the key lying on the table and gets in the shower instead, stands under the spray and asks himself if he’s crazy to want this. To want to be controlled. To want to belong to Bones.

As he washes the skin at his wrists and then at his ankles, it occurs to Jim that it’s Day Five.

And there are only four rings.

Suddenly, he needs the fifth.

Needs it like air.

 

 

Things at the clinic are slow when he arrives less than an hour later, well before lunch time. There are no patients in the waiting area and Bones is the only doctor in sight, lounging on a chair in the nurses’ station with Annabelle, Ísla and Celia.

Bones looks at Jim, checks the chronometer, and smiles. “Take off your jacket, Jim.”

The shirt underneath is long-sleeved but close fitting. When Jim takes the jacket off, the wrist cuffs lie over the fabric, clearly visible.

“Good quality,” Celia notes with genuine admiration, and Jim doesn’t know whether to feel honored or objectified. “You’ll have to let me know where you found them.”

“Of course,” Bones tells her. He holds out his hand in Jim’s direction, palm up. “You have something for me?”

Jim steps forward, draws the key from the pocket of his jeans and drops it into Bones’ hand.

Bones’ fist closes around it and he smiles again. “Good boy.”

The words are soft, but they’re not whispered. Annabelle, Ísla and Celia are all right there. Jim shivers.

“Want number five?” Bones asks.

He does. He also wants to turn and run out the door. Jim takes a deep breath and nods.

Bones stands and tilts his head toward the break room. Jim walks into it and Bones follows.

“Take off your socks and shoes,” Bones says. “Then your pants.”

The fifth ring is a [cock ring](http://www.bondagecollars.com/ldcr-g1-4.jpg). Also metal. Also gold. Once Jim sees it in Bones’ hand, he barely manages to keep himself soft long enough for Bones to put it on.

It doesn’t help that, as he does it, Bones explains how, “I wish I could leave this one on for the next week, too, but it’s not medically advisable, and I did take an oath. You’d be able to take it, though. I know you would.”

Jim only gets harder as the Ben Wa balls are pushed inside him while he bends over the cot where, just two days ago, he tongued and sucked three virtual strangers to orgasm.

It’s funny that it’s only been two days. The girls feel like old friends by now.

“Put the pants back on.”

Jim straightens and wriggles into the jeans, which were never exactly loose in the first place, but now border on unbearable. The ankle cuffs peek out beneath the hems.

Jim’s expecting one of the girls to enter the room, but Bones leads him back to the nurses’ station instead – in his bare feet.

“It’s a slow day, but we’re short staffed,” Bones explains. “The nurses can’t leave their station. Not even for breaks. I told them you’d be flexible.”

Jim _is_ flexible. Both figuratively and literally.

The space under the desk is tight, but he makes do.

 

 

When they get back to Bones’ room, Bones shows him another benefit of the cuffs. He strips Jim, then puts him on his knees and asks him to lean back. He takes a large metal clip and runs it through each cuff before snapping it closed, binding Jim’s wrists and ankles together.

“Back home we call that a hogtie,” Bones tells him before swallowing Jim’s cock whole.

The cock ring seems to make time slow down, magnifying every sensation until Jim’s begging and pleading, the first blowjob bleeding into the second, and he doesn’t even know if he’s whimpering for Bones to stop now…or never.

When Bones finally kisses him, his lips feel numb and it’s hard to figure out if he’s kissing back or not, but the stroke of Bones’ hands over his bare, sweaty back, the brush of Bones’ fingers along the collar assure him that everything’s fine.

 

 

 

On the sixth day of Christmas, Bones finally has the day off and Jim half expects to spend it chained to the bed. But when he wakes up, his limbs are free and the scent of waffles fills the dorm room. Waffles being cooked, even, not just popping into existence in the replicator.

Jim can smell the difference.

He rolls out of bed and pulls on track pants, before padding barefoot toward the small kitchenette. He pauses for a moment to yawn and stretch, pleased when he sees that Bones’ eyes have strayed from the waffle iron to Jim’s bare torso. Jim smiles, scratching lightly at the side of his stomach. “Shouldn’t _I_ be the one fixing _you_ breakfast?”

“Because I’m the one who just worked seven shifts in six days, including two on Christmas, while you’ve been on vacation all week?” Bones shrugs. “Probably, but I do prefer my breakfast edible.”

“No,” Jim says, ignoring the blatant (but accurate) insult to his cooking skills and waving a meaningful hand, “the other thing.”

Bones cranes his neck to take in the waving hand and shows Jim a raised eyebrow before turning back to the waffle iron. “Because I’m the dom and you’re the sub? How many times do I have to tell you – that starts and ends with the sex. The rest of the time you’re my boyfriend, okay? Not my manservant. Will you look in the cupboard and see if there’s any maple syrup left?”

But Jim doesn’t move. He’s stuck a couple sentences back. “What did you just call me?”

Bones turns around to look at Jim again, pausing for a moment as if to replay the words in his head. He frowns. “You mean the boyfriend thing? Seriously, Jim, after everything you’ve been letting me do to you, _this_ is what you’re going to freak out about?”

“I’m not freaking out,” Jim says. “I just…I didn’t realize…”

“Come on, when was the last time you spent a night in your own room? We eat together, drink together, sleep together…. We’re best friends and the sex is amazing. What would _you_ call it?”

“I don’t know,” Jim says, searching his mind for the right words. “I’m not…I guess I thought maybe it was just some kind of…I mean…for fuck’s sake, I just spent the last three days eating out three of your nurses!”

“Because I told you to.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Because you like it.”

“Well, duh.”

Bones shakes his head, like Jim’s being particularly slow. “Just because I share you, Jim, doesn’t mean you’re not mine.”

“I know _that_ , but…”

“And just because the sex is a thing with us, doesn’t mean it’s the only thing.”

“I…” Jim stops himself because he’s not – never was – objecting. He nods. “Okay.”

“So grab the syrup and let’s eat,” Bones says, setting two plates of waffles on the table. “I was thinking we should get out today. Maybe walk down to the waterfront. What d’you say?”

Jim takes the syrup from the cupboard and sits, setting it between them. “Sounds perfect.”

 

They spend the day down by the water, walking with their sides pressed tightly together to shield each other from the wind and taking turns sipping bourbon from Bones’ flask to stay warm. They talk about nothing in particular and laugh both with and at each other and Jim supposes Bones was right, as usual, though he doesn’t need to admit it out loud.

It’s not like he doesn’t know Bones is thinking it anyway.

 

 

That night, Bones takes Jim to a gay club and finds a comfortable spot against the wall to watch as Jim dances with six strangers for six minutes each, letting each one grope his fill, as instructed, but turning down any and all invitations for more.

The cock ring’s been back in place since Bones dressed Jim for the night and Jim’s totally hard now and it feels amazing.

When Jim finishes and returns to Bones’ spot, Bones drags Jim off to the bathroom and blows him. It’s out of order, Jim thinks, maybe says, but Bones really doesn’t seem to care.

Just like he doesn’t care who’s watching when he bends Jim over the sink, yanks Jim’s pants down to his thighs and feeds the Ben Wa balls one by one into Jim’s ass.

The walk back to campus is excruciating and wonderful.

The girls were off work that day, too, but they all live in Bones’ dorm anyway, so Bones takes Jim for a round of house calls. By the time they finish, Jim is so ready for that second blowjob.

He’s even more ready for that last kiss.


	5. Chapter 5

They’re back in the same club and Bones manages to stake the same position against the wall, even though the crowd has almost doubled for New Year’s Eve. Bones has Jim in tight jeans again and the cock ring is snug in its place. Jim’s shirt is short-sleeved and the wrist cuffs are more than showing.

Jim’s already received his fair share of appreciative looks and “accidental” brushes from strangers (as has Bones), but he hasn’t been sent out on the dance floor. Bones is still holding him close, a possessive arm heavy around his waist, and whatever seven is supposed to be, it hasn’t happened yet. Jim guesses he should probably be anxious, but he feels relaxed.

Everything is in Bones’ hands – he’s _put_ it in Bones’ hands – and that means it will be awesome.

Jim trusts in that now.

Finally, Bones leans another couple of inches closer, his lips brushing Jim’s ear as he asks, “How many of those guys last night wanted more than you gave them?” Bones slides his hand down from Jim’s waist and strokes it over Jim’s ass. “How many of them wanted to drag you off the dance floor so they could have their way with this?” The other hand slips between their bodies to palm Jim’s dick. “Or this?” The hand from his dick trails slowly up Jim’s chest to cup his chin, the thumb tracing his lips. “Or these?”

Jim moans. “All of them,” he answers, lips moving against that thumb. His tongue pokes out to brush over its rough surface.

Bones slides the thumb into Jim’s mouth and Jim sucks at it. “And what did you tell _all of them_?” Bones asks, sliding his thumb out again so Jim can speak.

“No thanks,” Jim says.

Bones nods. “Good boy.” He strokes Jim’s cheek. “But this time, I need you to tell them something different, okay?”

“Okay.” Jim imagines himself sucking them off, being sucked off by them, being bent over and fucked by these strangers as Bones looks on. He shivers in anticipation.

“I need you to tell them you _can’t_ ,” Bones continues. “You can’t because you’re not allowed. Because _I_ haven’t given you permission. Not tonight. You can’t because _you_ don’t own these lips or this ass or this cock anymore – _I_ do. I need you to tell them that you can’t because you’re mine.”

 _Oh god._ Saying those words to Bones is hard enough, but to tell complete strangers? Jim’s petrified and so fucking turned on and he’s not sure how he’s going to tell anyone anything anyway because he seems to have misplaced his powers of speech.

Which is crazy, because since when has Jim Kirk been afraid to say whatever the fuck he wants to whomever the fuck he wants – especially when it comes to sex? But, shit, this is different.

“Don’t tell them I’m your boyfriend,” Bones warns. “I’m not your boyfriend here. Here, I make the rules and you follow them. I give the orders and you carry them out. Faithfully. To the letter. Here, I _own_ you and that’s what they need to know.” His hand strokes up and down Jim’s chest, petting. “Oh, and if they have questions about it, you answer them. Truthfully and _completely_. Nod if you understand.”

For a moment, Jim’s not even sure he can move his head, but then he feels himself nodding and Bones’ arm dropping from around his waist. “Now go on,” Bones says, slapping him gently on the ass. “You know the plan. Six guys, six minutes each. And stay in my sight.” Bones smiles. “If I miss any of this, you’re in big trouble.”

 

The first one is the hardest. They start off dancing face to face but the guy quickly settles behind Jim, rubbing his cock against Jim’s ass as he feels his way first up Jim’s chest and then down into Jim’s pants. Jim lets him. “Let’s get off this dance floor,” the guy suggests, chin resting on Jim’s shoulder as he speaks into Jim’s ear.

“I can’t,” Jim says.

“What?” The music is loud and so are the people.

“ _I can’t_ ,” Jim repeats, louder this time, sure his voice must be carrying beyond the two of them, even though that’s hardly possible.

“Sure you can,” the guy says. “It’s not far. They’ve got a back room. If you don’t want to suck me off, that’s okay. I’ll do you.” The guy squeezes Jim’s dick, as if to emphasize his enthusiasm for this option.

Jim squeezes his eyes shut. “It’s not that,” he says.

“What is it, then?”

Jim swallows. “I’m not allowed.”

“What?” the guy asks again, but this time it’s not a question of volume.

Jim keeps his eyes shut. “I don’t…have permission.”

The guy laughs in his ear. “From who? Your mom?”

Jim opens his eyes and finds Bones’ spot against the wall. He tilts his head in that direction. “From him.”

The guy follows Jim’s gaze. “He your boyfriend or something?”

Jim really just wants to say yes. “No,” he says.

“Then what do you need his permission for? So what if you came together, it’s not like he owns you.”

“Um, it kinda is.”

“Huh?”

Jim knows he mumbled that last part so it’s hard to tell if the guy didn’t hear or just doesn’t understand. “I said, ‘It kinda is,’” Jim repeats. “He…I mean, I….well…. He makes the rules. I follow them.”

“Are you serious?” the guy is asking, but Jim looks over at Bones again and Bones looks down at his watch, then back up at Jim.

“Look,” Jim tells the guy, “I’ve gotta go now. Um, sorry.” The guy’s hands fall easily from Jim’s body as Jim steps away and Jim’s relieved.

He’s also learned something.

With the next guy, Jim makes sure to keep him distracted until the six minutes are almost up. When he does ask Jim to go with him into the restroom, Jim doesn’t drag out his explanation. He says enough, but he says it quickly. And makes sure to walk away before the guy has time to ask for further clarification.

This tactic also works for Guy Number Three and Guy Number Four.

Unfortunately, the fifth guy Jim finds doesn’t waste any time propositioning him, and when Jim explains that he can’t because he doesn’t have his dom’s permission, Guy Number Five gets very curious.

“So you’re allowed to dance with other guys but not to leave with them?”

“Something like that.”

“ _Like_ that?”

Truthfully and _completely_. “I _have_ to dance with other guys,” Jim explains. “Six of them, for six minutes each.”

Guy Number Five laughs. “So which number am I?”

“Five.”

“And how many minutes do we have left?”

“Three.”

“Is he watching us?”

Jim points Bones out and the guy shifts, arranging them so Jim’s back is to his front and they can both watch Bones watching them.

The corner of Bones’ mouth twitches into an almost smile.

“He likes this,” the guy says.

“Yeah.”

“Does he like watching you being touched?” the guy asks, even as he starts to slide his hands up under Jim’s shirt, high enough to flick a finger over Jim’s right nipple.

“Yes,” Jim moans.

“How?”

“Any way you want.”

The guy reaches down to massage Jim’s cock through his jeans with the heel of his hand. “Do _you_ like this?”

“Yes.”

The guy keeps going. “If you didn’t like it, would you still let me do it just because he told you to?”

Jim hesitates for a second, but only a second, his eyes on Bones. “Yes.”

“How much time do I have left?”

“One minute.”

“Keep looking at him and tell me the dirtiest thing he’s ever made you do.”

Jim wonders if Bones can read lips.

“These three women he works with – he made me eat them out. Each one of them. Every day for the last four days. One time he put me under a desk and they would come and sit down and I would have my head up under their skirts while pa—” He stops himself from saying ‘patients.’ “—people were walking in and out of the room.”

“Shit, that’s hot.” The guy continues touching as much of Jim as he can reach. “And you’re sure he won’t let you suck _me_ off?”

“Not tonight,” Jim says. “Also, time’s up.”

The guy laughs easily as he drops his hands from Jim’s body. “Sounds like gender discrimination to me.”

Jim shrugs. “Take it up with the management.”

“I think I will.” Jim watches as the guy walks over and starts talking to Bones. A minute later, Bones pulls out his comm and takes down some information and Jim wonders if he’ll be sucking this guy off someday after all.

He can’t say that he’d mind.

Meanwhile, Guy Number Six has found his way to Jim’s left hip and is demanding Jim’s full attention. Jim turns to face this sixth stranger, lips curving into a sexy smirk as he rubs his very aroused body against the man’s muscled torso, rolling their hips together in time with the music.

“Well, fuck,” the new guy mutters, “aren’t you a hot little piece?”

Jim doesn’t answer, just keeps moving to the music and appreciating the friction. Just five more minutes and maybe Bones will blow him in the bathroom again. Or somewhere or some _thing_ else equally wonderful. And then it’ll be the balls and then the girls and then…

“Hey,” Mister Six grunts, grabbing hold of Jim’s jaw and tilting it toward his own face until Jim blinks and meets his gaze, “where’d you go? Believe me, the best thing you’re gonna find tonight is right here. I want your ass to be the first thing I fuck in the New Year.”

“Sorry,” Jim says, though he really doesn’t think he is, “I’m not sticking around for the champagne and confetti. I’ve got plans.”

“Fine,” Mister Six grumbles, “I’ll settle for it being the last thing I fuck in the old year. Let’s go.”

He starts to pull Jim off the dance floor, but Jim digs his heels in. “ _Sorry_ ,” he grits out, trying to twist his wrist from the other man’s grip, “I’m not available.”

“You sure _act_ available.”

“I’m allowed to dance,” Jim says, wanting to get his confession over with and get away from this guy. He twists his wrist again but doesn’t get it free. “I don’t have permission to do anything else.”

“Permission?” Mister Six repeats. Then he catches sight of the gold cuff around Jim’s wrist, just below his grip and grins in a way that gives Jim chills. Bad chills. “A sub, huh? Master send you off for a few hours on your own?”

Before Jim knows it’s happening, the man has Jim’s hands behind Jim’s back, his fist threaded through both cuffs, locking them together like a vise. Jim tugs with both arms, but that fist doesn’t budge. Shit, the man is strong.

“No wonder you’ve been playing hard to get. You were just waiting for someone man enough to show you who’s boss.”

Jim’s knee is about to show this guy’s _man_ hood _exactly_ who’s boss, when Mister Six suddenly lets out a decidedly unmanly gasp as the arm not behind Jim’s back is roughly twisted behind his own. Jim looks past Mister Six’s beefy frame and there’s Bones, holding that twisted arm tightly enough that one wrong move will have Mister Six dislocating his own shoulder.

Bones leans in to speak in Mister Six’s ear. “I’m a doctor,” he says. “Which means I know exactly how to break all five of your fingers right now and in the most painful way humanly possible, _after_ I’ve dislocated your shoulder. Of course, it also means I’ve taken an oath to do no harm. But, hey, I’m off duty right now and you’re not a patient. Yet. So how about you let go of my boy here and just walk away. And if you ever have an accident and happen to end up on my table, I’ll try _not_ to let my hand slip.”

For a long moment, no one moves. Finally, Mister Six releases Jim’s wrists. Bones releases his arm in turn and the asshole walks away without looking back. Jim doesn’t know if his heart is pounding from the residual fight-or-flight instinct or from how _fucking hot_ he finds Bones right now.

“Ready to get out of here?” Bones asks.

Jim nods. “Hell yes.”

“Good. You just tell one more person that you’re mine and we can go.”

Jim blinks. “Wait – what?”

“It’s Day _Seven_ , Jim.”

Jim almost can’t fucking believe Bones is serious, but then again, he is _so_ ready to move on with their evening. Jim reaches out with his right hand and lays it on the nearest available shoulder. The owner of the shoulder turns and looks at Jim askance.

Jim points to Bones. “This man owns my ass,” he says. “We get off on him bossing me around. A lot. And it is fucking awesome. You only _wish_ you had it so good.”

The man gapes.

Jim turns to Bones. “Satisfied?”

Bones’ grin is positively predatory. “More than.”

He all but drags Jim out of the club and into a nearby alley, where he wastes no time dropping to his knees. Jim forgets himself in the feeling of Bones’ mouth on his dick, grabbing Bones’ hair, clawing at his scalp, but Bones doesn’t seem to mind.

 

With gifts seven and six out of the way (and four of Jim’s five golden rings still in place), they spend the next couple of hours working their way back through four, three and the second half of two. Jim decides this has to be the best New Year’s Eve countdown in the history of the galaxy. Bones’ timing is, as always, impeccable and they hit one just as the chronometer in Bones’ room strikes midnight.

Of course, it’s at least zero-hundred-oh-three before they come up for air.

“Happy New Year,” Bones says, leaning back in for another gentle nip at Jim’s kiss-swollen lips.

Jim grins up at him from the pillow. “Happy New Year.”


	6. Chapter 6

At zero-hundred-fifteen, Bones, who Jim belatedly realizes is still mostly dressed, gets up out of bed.

Jim flails an arm against the empty space next to him and mumbles something that starts off as ‘Where are you going?’ in his brain but bears only a fleeting resemblance as the words trip past his lips and out into the world.

Fortunately, Bones has recently become fluent in Semi-Conscious Fucked-Out Jim. “I’ve got a clinic shift. I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Faux ant show. Hot bear,” Jim mutters.

“Yes, I have to go,” Bones says. “It doesn’t matter if it’s fair. You wouldn’t believe the favors I had to call in just so I wasn’t working the shift before this one, too.”

“Seed bit chew moose duel,” Jim insists. “New die calf snow.”

“My schedule’s fine. Compared to my internship, this is a cake walk. And you’re not blowing anybody.”

“Snake meat toe law steeple.”

“Not like that, Jim. I may share you, but I’d never rent you out.” Jim hears Bones walk back over to the bed, feels Bones’ hand cupping his jaw. Jim cracks open an eye. “You do know that, right?”

“Horse glue.”

“Good,” Bones says, kissing him on the forehead before straightening up and heading for the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

 

Jim’s just coming out of the shower, towel wrapped around his hips, when Bones gets back – with breakfast.

“Oh shit,” Jim says, as Bones starts pulling bagels out of a yellow and blue box, “you went all the way down to Lissa’s? _You_ are my personal hero.”

“Don’t thank me,” Bones says. “Ísla brought them in for me to bring to you.”

Jim’s gait turns to a swagger as he walks over to snag an onion bagel from Bones’ hand. “Guess that means I’m _her_ personal hero.”

Bones rolls his eyes as Jim separates the halves and spreads one with cream cheese. “Don’t get carried away. She’s just having a bit of a dry spell lately.”

Jim waggles his eyebrows. “Didn’t seem so dry to me.”

“Don’t be disgusting, Jim. You’re talking about a lady.”

Jim just laughs. “I don’t get you, Bones.”

“What?”

“I mean, how do you manage to be so… _filthy_ dirty…and so…gentlemanly at the same time?”

Bones face is completely straight. “Good Southern breeding,” he says.

Jim laughs again and takes a bite of his bagel. “Whatever. Ísla thinks I’m _awesome_. These bagels are the _best_.”

Bones nods his agreement as he sits down and prepares a poppy seed one for himself, working with a surgeon’s precision and economy of movement. Jim loves to watch those hands in action.

“Oh, and don’t bother putting pants on,” Bones says, in the same tone he’d use to ask Jim (or, like, the old widow down the street) to pass the orange juice. “When you’re done eating I want you to lose the towel and bend over the table.” He taps his hand on the spot in front of him. “Right here.”

Jim swallows without remembering to chew first.

He coughs, his eyes watering as he glares at Bones, who just looks back, his face the picture of innocence. If you don’t notice the eyes, that is.

Jim’s learned to notice the eyes.

“You okay there, Jim?”

Jim clears his throat and swallows again. “Bastard.”

“Come now, is that any way to talk to your—?”

“Boyfriend?” Jim finishes.

Bones raises an eyebrow.

Jim sees the eyebrow and raises Bones a smirk. “Still eating, Bones. Not bent over the table yet.”

“Brat.”

Jim takes his time with the rest of the bagel, tearing off small pieces and popping them into his mouth one by one, chewing carefully as Bones looks on, relishing the way that Bones’ fingers have begun to tap against the table top. “Hmm,” Jim says when it’s finally finished, “maybe I’ll have anoth—”

“Get over here,” Bones growls. “Now.”

Jim flashes a triumphant smile before tugging at the towel. It drops from his hips as he slides his way between Bones’ chair and the table, widens his stance and bends over.

Both Bones’ hands immediately find their way to Jim’s ass, one on each cheek, pinching and squeezing, drawing tingling lines with the edges of well-trimmed fingernails.

Spreading…

And suddenly he feels the rough flat of Bones’ tongue licking its way up from behind Jim’s balls and over Jim’s asshole, thousands of nerve endings suddenly jumping to attention.

“Oh, fuck! _Bones_.”

Jim’s fingers scrabble to get a grip on the edge of the table. He can feel his knuckles whitening as Bones’ tongue makes another long, slow pass.

He can hear himself starting to whimper.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s counting – Jim can’t believe he’s actually _counting_ – the wet, wonderful sweeps, and there’s seven, oh _god_ , and then eight, _fuckfuckfuck_ , and he really, really wants to be wrong about this, but sure enough, the hands are lifting and the tongue is gone. He hears Bones’ chair pushing back against the floor.

“ _You evil fucking bastard_ ,” Jim whines, voice breathless and needy, arching his back as if pushing his ass just a half inch closer to a now standing Bones might actually change his mind.

Jim hates themes.

He hates them with every hypersensitized fiber of his being.

“I need to get some sleep,” Bones says. Out of the corner of his eye from where he’s still spread out over the table, Jim can see Bones pulling the shirt of his clinic uniform over his head. “We probably don’t want to get to the club before 2200, but we could grab dinner beforehand if you want.”

“You are dead to me, Bones. Dead.”

Bones steps out of his pants and slings them over a chair. “So is that a yes or no on dinner?”

“I’m going to poison your food.”

“Great, we can go to that Greek place.” Bones is down to his boxers now and already sliding under the covers, fluffing and punching his pillow into shape. Jim would like to punch something. Really, really hard. “So if you’re going out today,” Bones continues, “just meet me back here by 1930. And don’t even think about touching yourself between now and then. I’ll know. Lights – five percent.”

The room goes dim and, several minute later, Jim pushes himself up off the table, finds a pair of jeans and a sweater that belong to him and pulls them on. He shoves his feet into a pair of sneakers.

He really wishes doors still slammed.

 

 

 

On the ninth day of Christmas, Jim finally gets chained to the bed.

Well, not so much chained as _clipped_ , with what sound like old fashioned karabiners. But the gist of it is that he’s spread-eagled and blindfolded.

Naked.

Lying on his back, listening to Bones moving around the room, and he’s so hard already that it _would_ be embarrassing – if Bones had left him with even an ounce of shame.

Not like he had all that much to begin with.

“Computer,” Bones says, voice coming closer, “increase temperature to twenty-seven degrees.”

Jim hears something like a gentle clacking as he feels Bones sit on the side of the bed, but he can’t place the sound. He’s about to tell Bones that he’s not actually cold, when something smooth and wet comes to rest against the skin above his belly button.

It’s not until it starts to slide, up the center of his chest, between his pecs, that Jim begins to feel the chill it’s leaving in its wake and identifies the item as an ice cube. It’s tracing over his collarbone now, but it’s his abdominal muscles that seize and contract as the cold seeps down through the skin. His right shoulder quivers as the cube brushes his armpit and trails down the inside of his right arm. His hand spasms and his right wrist jerks involuntarily against its restraint. The last vestige of the cube comes to rest in his palm, quickly dissolving in its heat.

Jim takes a shuddering breath.

Bones starts over just above his belly button, marking the same path along the left side of Jim’s body.

Jim can feel every place the ice has ever been, every trail it’s blazed, long after each cube is gone. The coolness lingers in those places, even as the rest of his body remains flushed with warmth. The contrast is intoxicating.

The next cube starts at the bone of Jim’s left hip, moving down the outside of his leg, sweeping over the sole of his foot before finally sliding up the inside of his thigh, gone, melted away just before things can _really_ get interesting.

The same for his right leg.

His flesh is chilled but his nerves are on fire.

Just four cubes so far. It’s not even halfway done.

The entire fifth cube is reserved for his nipples, leaves them puckered and aching, as the shivers break out in random places throughout Jim’s body, without rhythm or reason.

The sixth is dedicated to his cock and balls, sending contrary messages through his system, the desire to fill and expand battling the urge to retreat.

Jim is panting now, his hands, bound to the corners of the bed, opening and closing, clawing at the air.

Jim’s ears register clicking sounds, faint, as if far, far away, and then suddenly Bones’ hands are searing Jim’s skin with their warmth as Jim finds himself tugged, pushed and shoved onto his stomach. He doesn’t even think to resist as his hands and legs are stretched once again, anchored to their previous points.

The seventh cube starts at the back of his neck, sliding between steel and skin, before gliding in fanciful swirls and elongated figure eights across his shoulder blades and down his spine, melting away as it traces the curves between buttocks and thighs.

Two more cubes.

He expects Bones to use them on the backs of his legs or maybe to run them over his ass. He doesn’t expect Bones to slide them both _up_ Jim’s ass, one right after the other.

Jim moans, all four limbs struggling against their binding. It takes a few more seconds for Jim’s body to actually start _shaking_.

And that’s when Bones reaches down, pulls Jim’s cheeks apart again and starts _licking_.

With the addition of Bones’ tongue, the shaking shifts to a higher frequency.

Jim thinks that he’s supposed to be swearing at Bones, but he’s not sure the sounds falling from his lips actually qualify as words, four-letter or otherwise. Parts of his face seem to have gone numb. He doesn’t think he can feel his fingertips. He’s sure he’s about to come.

And then the tongue is gone and he can no longer feel the hardness of the ice cubes inside him, though their chill remains.

Slowly, the shaking subsides, winding down into little twitches that take him unexpectedly, here or there.

Jim doesn’t have the energy or even the will to curse, threaten or plead, especially not when his limbs are freed, the blindfold removed, and Bones is gathering him into strong arms, running firm, soothing hands over Jim’s body as he slowly comes down, his senses finding their way back to something like normal, one by one.

He tastes the dryness of his mouth.

Smells his own sweat and Bones’ shampoo.

Hears the meaningless murmurs of reassurance falling from Bones’ lips.

Sees the solid surface of Bones’ shoulder glowing amber under dimmed light.

He feels each and every point at which Bones’ skin touches his own.

Anchoring him.


	7. Chapter 7

Jim knows Bones is awake. Jim felt Bones get out of bed and heard Bones moving around the room, tidying up a little maybe, probably reading medical journals over coffee.

Jim also knows Bones has decided that he wants Jim to _know_ he’s awake. Because Bones was settled for a while, but now he’s moving around again and being louder about it, “accidentally” kicking furniture, letting his PADD fall harder than necessary against the table.

Jim knows Bones wants Jim to wake up.

Jim just doesn’t give a fuck.

By his count, over the past nine days, he’s received sixteen blowjobs, performed twenty-one rounds of cunnilingus, told twenty-one different strangers (not including Bones’ nurses) that Bones owns his ass, and spent at least fifteen hours with those Ben Wa balls up his ass and probably longer wearing that cock ring. He’s been felt up by twenty-four random men, rimmed within an inch of his life twice without being allowed to come, and tortured with no fewer than nine ice cubes.

Jim thinks he’s earned the right to die in peace.

“Jim?” Bones calls, as he approaches the bed, finally having abandoned his more “subtle” methods.

“Fuck off and let me die in peace,” Jim mutters, yanking a pillow over the top of his head.

“I could do that,” Bones says. “ _Or_ we could go to the Egg Nest, get some breakfast and a little air, and let you stretch your legs a bit before I bring you back here, tie you to the bed again, and give you your tenth gift.”

Jim ignores the twitch of interest from his cock – which clearly does not know when enough is enough – and lifts the pillow to announce that, “I’m never letting you touch me again,” before pulling it back down over his head.

“No?”

Jim sighs from beneath the pillow. “Probably not.”

“Probably,” Bones repeats. “Mmm, so you’d be mad if I did this?” he asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed and reaching out to take the pillow away.

“Yes.” Jim turns his pillowless face away from Bones.

“And you’d hate it if I did this?” Bones leans down to kiss the back of Jim’s neck.

“Totally.”

“And I guess that this _really_ pisses you off?”Bones asks between trailing kisses from the back of Jim’s neck to the side of it and then along his jawline.

“Uh huh.”

“That’s a real shame,” Bones says as he stretches out on the bed beside Jim, leaning over him.

“Yeah.”

Bones slides a hand under Jim’s chin and uses it to turn Jim’s face upward as he looks down upon it. “Because I was kind of getting used to it,” he says, before leaning in for a kiss.

Jim really can’t help kissing back – isn’t even trying – and they lie there for long minutes just making out, easy as Sunday morning.

It may be Sunday morning.

Jim really can’t remember.

“Come have a shower with me,” Bones coaxes, pulling back just an inch or so from Jim’s lips. “We’ll get some coffee and some breakfast in you – make you feel good as new.”

“Just in time for you to wreck me again,” Jim grumbles.

“Yep,” Bones says.

Jim lets himself be pulled out of bed.

 

 

Four hours later, Jim lets himself be fastened back down to the bed, facing up.

He’s been stripped and blindfolded again and without his sight, just the feeling of Bones’ hands on his bare skin is enough to start his heart pounding.

“Deep breaths,” Bones reminds him, as he fastens the clips. “You can take it. I know you can.”

The words help.

So did the breakfast and the coffee and the air – and the fact that Bones _knew_ all those things would help – but Jim likes the words most of all.

Once his wrists and ankles are fixed, he feels Bones standing up, hears him making his preparations.

After several minutes, Bones returns to the bed. Jim hears him setting thing on the nightstand.

A few seconds later, there’s a hand on Jim’s cock, firm and gentle as it settles the ring in place. “I think we might need it this time,” Bones says. “We don’t want you coming just yet. Not until much later this evening.”

“Speak for your—” Jim starts to mutter, but Bones’ finger presses against his lips, silencing him.

“Don’t talk, Jim.”

Jim hears the swish of liquid in a bottle, feels a cool, slippery substance drizzling onto his chest.

“What—?”

“Mineral oil.” The finger returns to his lips. “Now, quiet.”

Jim’s mouth curves under the finger into what he hopes is an adorably apologetic and utterly irresistible smile.

“You’re not as irresistible as you think you are,” Bones informs him, as he begins to massage the mineral oil into Jim’s skin, hands sweeping in broad strokes over Jim’s torso.

Jim figures this is a lie. He is _totally_ irresistible.

“When you talk,” Bones continues, rubbing up and down Jim’s arms, “you’re just trying to distract yourself. But you don’t need to do that, Jim. You don’t need to be distracted to take this. All you need is to trust me. Trust me and let yourself feel. Think you can handle that?”

Jim swallows, licks his lips – he can still taste Bones’ finger there – and nods.

“Good boy.”

Bones leans away and then back again, and before Jim’s stomach is even finished with the little flip that always accompanies those words, he feels a sudden burning sting on the inside of his left forearm just below his wrist.

“ _Fuck_. What—?”

“Shhhh,” Bones says, “just feel.”

The sharpness of the sensation is already fading, but then another sting hits just below the inside of his left elbow.

Jim’s arm twitches against its restraint and he bites his lip to keep from speaking.

“Good boy,” Bones repeats as Jim feels a third sting at the edge of his left armpit. “It’s hot wax. Try to stay still so it lands where it’s supposed to.”

Four drops fall in rapid succession across the top of Jim’s chest and he bites down harder on his lip, breath coming in harsh pants around his teeth as the ever sweetening stings burst over his flesh and then ebb.

“So good,” Bones says, as another drop falls above his right armpit, then below the inside of his right elbow and finally below his right wrist. “So perfect.”

That’s ten, and just like the days before, it’s not nearly enough.

Jim whimpers.

“Don’t worry,” Bones says. “We’re not done yet. What goes on has to come off.”

Jim hears Bones set something down on the nightstand and then a familiar clacking sound, and _oh shit_ , how could he have forgotten that there would be _ice_?

“First, we use a little ice to chill the wax so it comes off nice ‘n’ easy,” Bones says, matching words to action. He runs the first cube ever so slowly up Jim’s left arm, across the top of his chest, and down his right, making tiny circles at each drop.

It sears Jim’s skin.

In his mind, Jim knows the ice must be cold, but his body is having a hard time telling the difference anymore.

“Then we peel it off,” Bones continues. “Now hold very still for me. This is a knife.”

Jim feels the flat of the blade scraping along his skin of his forearm, pulling at the wax, and it makes him want to shiver, but he knows he’s not supposed to.

That it’s dangerous.

The blade is on his chest now. Not so far from his throat.

_Oh fuck._

“Deep breaths,” Bones says again. “You can do this.”

He can.

He _can_.

He inhales and exhales and inhales and exhales and soon the blade is moving down his other arm and Bones is praising him again.

“Good boy. So good. And finally, just a little more ice,” Bones says. “You can move as much as you want now.”

And Jim does. He arches and wriggles and squirms as Bones runs another cube over the path of the wax and then proceeds to apply the others to the rest of Jim’s body. He ends up on his stomach once again, not even sure how he got there, tingling, shaking, _writhing_ as Bones works him over like an expert – like eight-stroke rimjobs were his fucking medical specialty.

Jim whimpers and whines, but he doesn’t beg or curse and he’s past the point of wanting to. He knows now that this isn’t about coming. It’s all about _feeling_ , sensation.

It’s not the destination anymore. It’s the journey.


	8. Chapter 8

On January 4th, Jim wakes up before Bones. He looks at the man sleeping next to him and _wants_ to stay – wants to roll over and scoot himself into that body, until his back is nestled against Bones’ front, until Bones slings an arm over him without waking, like it’s natural, just where the arm belongs.

Jim _wants_ to do this, but he _can’t_. He has to get up, get out. _Go_.

He doesn’t bother to shower, yanks on the first clothes he finds, lying on the floor or draped across a chair.

He almost doesn’t notice it. The lights are still out, the room lit only by the dull gray of San Francisco winter. Still, the light from the window falls across the table at this time of morning and it catches his eye as he’s pushing his feet into a pair of sneakers, his mind already halfway out the door.

[A riding crop.](http://www.paradeacrestack.com/images/leather%20crop.jpg)

For a moment, it pulls Jim’s mind back into the room.

Crafted of old fashioned leather, it lies there across the table, sleek and sturdy, yet completely out of place in its too smooth, too sterile surroundings.

He wonders where it came from, could swear it wasn’t there last night. But then what did he really see last night as he and Bones all but ran back from Annabelle’s room, stumbling through the door and tearing at each other’s clothes?

He might have missed it.

It’s there now, anyway, looking for all the world like it longs for a horse.

Or Jim’s back.

For a moment, it holds him – holds his eyes and stays his feet – but the moment passes and he moves again for the door.

“Jim.”

He pauses at the sound of Bones’ voice, turns his head toward the bed to meet Bones’ eyes.

He wants to be stopped.

He can’t be stopped.

He needs to be let go.

Bones holds his gaze. “Be back by 1500.” It’s not a request.

Jim slips out the door.

 

 

He’s never done this here before. He doesn’t have a usual place. He misses the motorcycle he gave away back at the shipyard. Misses zipping down long country roads on its back, being everywhere and nowhere at once.

He hops transport and gets off at the ocean. It’s too cold and too gray to be standing on a rocky beach and he’s alone. Staring out across the Pacific approximates the old feeling.

Endlessness.

More than a landscape, less than space.

Someday he’ll get off this planet. He wonders if his father will feel closer then.

Or further away.

Time drifts by like a distant ship on the horizon and when he bothers to know it, it’s already past 1300. He wonders if he’ll go back. He could stay here. Sleep here even. And when he woke up, it would be January 5th.

He wonders if Bones would punish him. This isn’t Bones’ dorm room. This isn’t sex. It’s the outside world.

Or maybe it’s the inside.

He thinks about the riding crop on the table. Wonders how it would look in Bones’ hand. Wonders how it would feel against his skin.

He thought he needed out of the room.

Maybe he needs out of his head.

 

 

 

He makes it back before 1500. Bones asks if he’s eaten and he shakes his head. A minute later, he tells Bones he’s not hungry. A few minutes after that, Bones sets lunch down in front of him and tells him to eat.

The soup warms him from the inside out.

The crop is still sitting on the table.

“Take off your clothes,” Bones says.

He watches Jim strip and then leads Jim to stand facing a bare wall.

“Put your hands against it. Spread your legs.”

Jim steps his left foot out and then his right. The wall is smooth and cool under his palms.

Bones’ palm is warm and rough as it presses between Jim’s shoulder blades, gentle yet firm, putting an arch into Jim’s back. His elbows rest against the wall now, too. His ass pushes backward and that warm palm slides down over Jim’s spine to caress each cheek.

“I thought about spanking you today,” Bones tells him, like it’s just the kind of thing he ponders in his spare time. Jim supposes it probably is. “Twenty-three and one to grow on,” Bones continues, and Jim tenses under his hand.

“Bones, I—”

“But then I realized that isn’t what you need today, is it?”

Bones takes a step back and Jim starts to straighten up. “Bones, I don’t want—”

“Shhh,” Bones says, hand returning to that place between Jim’s shoulder blades, pushing him back into position. “I’ve got this under control, Jim.”

Jim feels the tip of the leather crop trailing lightly down his back.

“You don’t need to worry about anything,” Bones continues, as the leather slides off his ass, reappears on his shoulder, slides its way down again. “It’s just the eleventh day of Christmas, that’s all. And all _you_ need to do is stay in position while _I_ take care of you. It’s important, though, and it might be hard. You’re going to have to focus on that – and nothing else. Do you think you can do that for me?”

“I don’t know.” Jim hates the way his voice shakes.

“That’s okay,” Bones says, still caressing his back with the tip of the crop, never letting it pause. “Can you try?”

Jim notices a slight ache already forming in his shoulders as the leather passes over them. “Yeah.”

The leather slides off his ass again.

“That’s good enough,” Bones says, just before Jim hears a slight whistling sound followed by a sharp smack as the slapper strikes his left buttock.

The sting takes him by surprise, but the pain is minor, warm and inviting, blossoming outward from the point of contact.

“ _You’re_ good enough.” A second blow falls with the same weight, on the right side this time.

Jim moans and shifts his weight, focuses on keeping his hands in place.

“Do you believe me?” Bone asks, as the slapper lands against the back of Jim’s right upper thigh.

 _Not today_.

Jim doesn’t say anything, thinks about keeping his back arched just so. Keeps count. It’s the eleventh day of Christmas and, in this moment, that’s all he needs to know.

“It’s okay,” Bones promises as the fourth strike falls on Jim’s left thigh. “I’ll never ask more than I know you can give.”

 _Unless you have too much faith in me,_ Jim thinks, but he doesn’t say that either. He’s holding position and he’s counting.

The next two blows land on his ass again – louder, harder than the ones before. Jim cries out, but he doesn’t move from where he’s been placed. He’s here now. Here for the first time today.

Five more to go, but he’d gladly take fifty, just to stay in this moment.

“You can make as much noise as you want,” Bones tells him, as the next one hits just where the last one did and Jim’s world narrows to that single spot.

Someone in the room is begging and Jim thinks it must be him.

Two more slaps across the backs of his thighs – the sharpest ones yet – and the only thing he can hold onto is the wall and their numbers. Eight and nine.

Ten and eleven find the tender spots where ass meets thighs with unerring precision and biting force and he knows the count but forgets it’s the end until he feels Bones’ hands closing over his own, the threading of their fingers.

The rough denim of Bones’ jeans scrapes against his tender backside as Bones pulls him upright.

“Shhh,” Bones is murmuring, “shhh.” And that’s when Jim realizes he’s whimpering.

The transition from bent over to flat on his back is welcome – necessary even – and the sheets feel cool against his burning skin at first.

Later – seconds? minutes? longer? – when the wax drips onto his chest and abdomen in an unknown pattern – letter? number? symbol? – and he squirms against them, the sheets don’t feel so cool anymore and he tries to arch up away from them, but he’s got to beware the knife.

Still, it’s all worth it for the feeling of the ice, with its slow soothing circles, sweetly smothering the fire across his nerves. His breath is harsh and heavy.

And when Bones’ tongue touches him – so close to each caress that came before, and yet just that much _more_ – Jim has never felt so naked in all his life.

 

 

They nap together, wake up for food, and nap some more.

 

 

Jim is grateful for the club that night – the crush of strangers, the anonymity. He’s grateful for the girls and their easy pleasure beneath his practiced tongue.

He slips his masks – sexy, submissive, cocky, competent – back into place.

He hides in plain sight.

And Bones gives him that.

That and, at the end of the night, a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks this chapter to [](http://emiliglia.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://emiliglia.livejournal.com/)**emiliglia** , who was the first to remind me that Jim's birthday actually falls on this day! Good thing I hadn't already written the chapter at that point. See, reader comments really do count!


	9. Chapter 9

The awkwardness catches Jim off guard.

Blindsides him.

It’s as if, out of the blue, he finds himself in the middle of their first real “ _Morning After_ ” – capitalized, italicized and in scare quotes.

And it’s not just Jim, either. Bones is definitely acting off. They’re barely speaking or touching – or, hell, even making _eye contact_ – as they move around the room, showering, drinking coffee, getting dressed.

Jim considers taking his patented _J.T.K. Walk of Shame-What-Shame-Sex-is-Awesome-and-I-Just-Had-Some-So-There_ across the quad and back to his own room. He hasn’t been there in a while, and though he’s been tossing his stuff in with Bones’ laundry, it might be nice to wear some _different_ clothes for a change. He’s not sure if his roommate is back from the break yet or not, but if he is, he might appreciate knowing Jim is still alive.

Or not.

Jim’s roommate has always considered Jim kind of a dick.

And, hey, Jim _is_ kind of a dick, so he can’t really hold that against the guy.

But then Bones starts making breakfast for two, so Jim figures he should stick around. They sit down together at the table – Jim shifting slightly as he tries to get comfortable – and proceed to stare at their respective plates.

“So,” Jim says when he can’t take another second of silence, “day twelve.”

“Day twelve,” Bones repeats, nodding.

Forks clink.

“Look, Jim,” Bones says suddenly, without glancing up, “you don’t have to…. I mean, I know that yesterday was sort of…. I just….” He finally looks over at Jim. “You know, we can stop if you want to. I won’t be mad.”

“What?” The fork falls from Jim’s hand. “ _Bones_ , why would you…? I mean, this whole thing has been so…. And, yeah, okay, yesterday got a little…. And I guess I wasn’t…. But you…you were…. And I couldn’t…. But it’s just…. Shit, Bones, it’s the last day and I made it all this way, so why wouldn’t I…?” Jim stops for a second to study Bones’ face. “Unless _you_ want to stop?” Jim looks down again. “I know I’m not the best at following orders, but—”

“ _Jim_.” Bones waits for Jim to meet his eyes before continuing. “You have been _incredible_. It’s not…. I don’t want to stop, okay? I ne— I don’t want to stop.”

Jim nods once. “Good. Because that would suck.” He picks up his fork and points it at Bones’ plate. “Now eat your breakfast, Bones. You’re gonna need the energy.”

Bones shakes his head, worry melting from his face as he lifts a single eyebrow. “Now who’s giving the orders?”

Jim shrugs. “Someone’s got to.”

The eyebrow drops and Bones’ eyes go dark. “Eat your breakfast, Jim. You’re gonna need the energy.”

Jim blinks.

Shivers.

 _Fuck_. How does he _do_ that?

 

 

It’s barely noon and they still need some time to recover the mood, so they end up in the campus rec hall, playing pool. They’re evenly matched – both good, neither phenomenal – and this game will be the tie-break, best out of five.

They haven’t bothered to place any bets. What would be the point? Everything Jim has, everything he _is_ , is already Bones’ to take.

Or is it _to give_?

At the moment, Jim’s less focused on how he’s actually playing than on how he _looks_ doing it. He bends over the table as often and as deeply as possible.

He ignores a perfect shot from the end of the table in favor of a halfway decent one he can line up from the side, right in front of where Bones is currently standing. Jim bends over slowly and takes his time studying the angles, testing the slide of the cue between his fingers.

“Take your shot, Jim,” Bones calls, his voice obnoxiously calm, even though Jim is certain his eyes haven’t wavered from Jim’s fine form for a single second. “We don’t have all day.”

Jim wiggles his ass one more time and then takes the shot. He misses. It was a crap angle.

Bones is walking around the table to the far side, where a cube of chalk sits next to the corner pocket. Jim straightens and watches as Bones wraps his fingers lovingly around the cue, just stroking it for a long moment, light grip sliding up and down its shaft. Bones brushes his thumb over the tip before applying the chalk, then blows softly across it to chase away the excess.

Jim forgets to breathe.

Bones lines up his shot and sinks it handily. He makes the next one, too, but misses the one that follows.

Jim still doesn’t think he’s getting enough oxygen to his brain. All the more reason to bend over, he figures. Put his head more level with his heart. He’s sure Doctor McCoy would suggest it himself, if the bastard weren’t so busy giving his cue another hand job.

Bones is still on the opposite side of the table, but Jim wiggles his ass anyway as he prepares his shot. Slowly.

It’s a public space.

It’s not like Bones is his only audience.

He must have actually focused in on the ball there for a second because Jim doesn’t realize Bones has come around behind him until he hears the low voice next to his ear.

“Yes, Jim, everyone here knows that you’ve got a sweet little ass. What they _don’t_ know is that, as soon as this game is over, I’m going to drag you back to my room, bend you over my knee and spank it – while you whimper and hump my thigh like a bitch in heat.”

Jim congratulates himself for not collapsing onto the table as his legs try to turn to jelly.

“Oh,” Bones adds, as Jim tries to keep his arms from shaking, “and this time? You’re going to count them.”

Jim sucks in a small gasp of air and marshals all his remaining strength and coordination to take a couple steps to the left, changing his angle on the cue ball and lining up a new shot.

With one short, sure stroke, he sinks the eight ball, letting the cue clatter to the table.

“You win.”

 

 

 

Bones was right. Once he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, with Jim laid out naked over his still very clothed lap, it doesn’t take more than the first few warm-up slaps before Jim is whining in the back of his throat and grinding himself into Bones’ thigh, needy and desperate.

“Easy there, sugar,” Bones drawls, pausing to pet and smooth. “We’ve got a long way to go yet.”

The tenderness in his hands and voice render the force of the next blow all the more startling, and Jim cries out, something between a grunt and a groan.

“What was that?” Bones asks.

“Four,” Jim moans.

“Good boy.”

The hand cracks twice more against his flesh and Jim’s hips buck reflexively, rubbing his naked cock against Bones’ jeans.

“Five,” Jim gasps. “Six.”

When he counts, “Ten,” Jim hears the choked sob in his own voice, and that’s when he notices the moisture welling in his eyes.

 _Why now?_ he wonders, blinking it away. When he made it all the way through yesterday, when he only has a few more hours to go.

It must be the hands, he decides. Not as sharp or as hot or as cold, but so much more _real_.

“Eleven,” he whispers, swallowing first to quell the tremor in his throat. “Twelve.”

Bones is back to petting him and Jim blinks furiously, tensing everywhere despite the soothing touch, muscles clenching in a literal effort to hold him together.

“Do you want the blindfold?” Bones asks.

Jim swallows again and nods. He’s not fooling Bones for a second – of course, he isn’t – but he’ll take the illusion.

“Go stand against the wall.”

Jim assumes the position as Bones walks across the room and returns with the crop and blindfold in hand.

This time, Bones doesn’t need to start slow. Jim is already warmed up. The crop falls fast and sharp, and with that single band of black cloth snug over his eyes, catching his tears, Jim finally lets go.

Gives himself over.

Completely.

Shudders wrack his body.

He barely registers the move to the bed. As drops of stinging heat trail up the back of one leg and down the other, he begins to float.

He hears Bones warning him to be still, to be careful, as if from a great distance, the other side of a roaring waterfall. He doesn’t know if he’s doing it or not, but he knows it doesn’t matter.

Bones will take care of it.

Of him.

At some point, maybe around the time he becomes aware of Bones’ tongue, it occurs to Jim that he might be having an orgasm. Only it doesn’t feel like any orgasm he’s ever had before, rolling through him in waves – less a climax than a new state of being.

If it _is_ an orgasm, he’s not sure he’s allowed to be having it, though he’s not sure how he could have stopped it, since he never really saw it coming, and he must be attempting to articulate something to this effect because someone is mumbling and someone else is murmuring, reassuring, like it’s all going to be okay.

Jim’s good with okay.

Jim’s just good.

Sometime later, still floating amongst the waves, he hears sound and movement from somewhere nearby that some part of him thinks he should be concerned with in some way, but he’s already losing the thread and he lets it go. He thinks the blindfold is gone, but he can’t be bothered to open his eyes.

Sometime after that, he breaks into an uncontrollable fit of giggles. He doesn’t understand it and tries to apologize for being so fucking weird, but Bones just shushes him again – the apologies, not the giggles – and brings him a glass of water afterwards, with a bendy straw.

The bendy straw makes Jim giggle again, but when he finally closes his lips around it, he finishes the whole glass.

He drifts in and out of consciousness.

He wakes up to the smell of take-out.

 

 

Jim’s still feeling kind of high as they make their way to the club. A block from the entrance, he informs an unsuspecting passerby that he belongs to Bones and he’s not ashamed. Bones flashes the man an apologetic smile, like Jim’s supposed to be drunk, or maybe crazy, and drags Jim away. “What?” Jim says. “Just figured I could do number seven first, y’know?” Bones rolls his eyes and keeps dragging.

Once inside, Bones stays with Jim on the dance floor. He lets guys join them and touch Jim and stuff, and he still wants Jim to tell them that he’s owned and everything, but it’s almost like he doesn’t trust Jim to be out there alone.

Which is totally ridiculous.

But doesn’t stop Jim from having a good time. He loves dancing with Bones and the guys they meet are cool.

Jim spends three minutes with one just trying to describe Bones’ waffles, but he kind of gets stuck on the syrup.

He offers to trade cock rings with another, until he finds out the other guy’s is just rubber, which is kinda lame.

He ends up asking the last guy if he wants to come with them to the bathroom to watch Bones shove Ben Wa balls up Jim’s ass, which the guy seems _totally_ into, by the way, but Bones vetoes the plan.

“Maybe next time, Jim. We’re in a fuzzy enough place with your consent right now as it is. Now say goodnight.”

Jim says goodnight.

Bones does take Jim into the bathroom to lube him up and slide the balls up inside him, but he makes them do it in a stall. Jim’s on the verge of calling Bones a spoilsport, but then Bones drops to his knees and blows Jim, and Jim loses the will to complain.

Jim also loses about half of his still functioning brain cells, but he’s too blissed out to care.

 

 

He tells Ísla that he met the perfect guy for her in his Diff EQ class last semester and that he’s going to set them up for the Spring Formal.

He tells Celia that when he gets his own starship – which is definitely going to be in six years, not eight – Bones is going to be his CMO and she _has_ to be his head nurse.

He tells Annabelle he thinks he’ll miss her most of all.

 

 

Bones props him up against the shower wall and blows him again and, yeah, okay, Jim’s pretty much done for the night.

Possibly the week.

Ten days at the outside.

Bones lays Jim out on the bed and kisses him, slow and sweet. “You did good,” he says.

Jim smiles, gazes blearily into Bones’ face. “Mmm, Bones, I lo—”

Bones cuts him off with another kiss.

“Not tonight, Jim,” he says as he pulls back. “You’ve been through too much. You can tell me tomorrow if you want to.”

“M’kay.” Jim’s just about to drift off when he finally realizes something he was trying to realize earlier. “Wait a minute,” he says. Well, _slurs_. “All this time…all these things….you never…you didn’t let me…” He waves a mostly limp arm in the general direction of Bones’ dick.

Bones chuckles. “You’re just now noticing that? Believe me, Jim, I’ve been taking care of it.”

“No, no, no,” Jim says, shaking his head. “You have to fuck me.”

“Jim…”

“Now, Bones. _Fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme_.”

“There’s no way you’re going to…”

“So? I know you like it that way, you dirty bastard. You love fucking me when I’m soft, just a…” Jim runs out of dirty talk mid-sentence. Whatever. “C’mon, before I fall asleep.”

Jim’s still stretched and slick inside. Bones pushes Jim’s knees up toward his ears and sinks into him.

Yeah, Bones _totally_ loves this.

Jim’s pretty keen on it, too. Even if he’s kind of having a hard time keeping his eyes open.

“Stay with me, Jim,” Bones grunts between thrusts. “Just a few minutes longer.”

And because James T. Kirk is a natural born hero, he does not pass out until after Bones comes.

Well, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t, anyway.

Maybe.

You know what they say: It’s the thought that counts.

 

 

_Fin._


End file.
